Endings That Last

Endings. Everything has one. Stories. Moments. Relationships. Lives. But what elements separate the endings that leave an impression from those of which leave us thinking, "Uhm, okay...?"

Endings are all around us. Sometimes, they're positive, such as relationships that end to transform into something bigger and better, like marriage. Other times, they're rather unfortunate, such as a lost life or a forgotten memory. Nonetheless, we don't remember every ending to everything we've seen or read or experienced; we remember those that last.

Playing more on endings I've seen or read, here's a list of some of the best endings I recall:

*****WARNING: SPOILER ALERTS AHEAD. READ AT OWN CAUTION.*****

Movies:

1. Inception: Cobb seemingly escapes the dream world and returns to his family in reality, but viewers are left on a thread as the film ends before the spinning top comes to a halt. Although it isn't specified, Cobb's totem is perceived as the spinning top, and viewers are forced to decide on whether or not he actually returned to reality. Leaving the audience with this element of surprise, making them think a little, ends the story with some mystery.
• SPOILER: Cobb actually managed to escape the dream world. His totem isn't the top; it's his wedding band. In reality, it's off; in his dreams, where he and Mal are still together, it's on. It's off at the end of the movie.

2. Titanic: Although she had lost the love of her life, Rose dies an old woman, warm in her bed, just as Jack promised she would before he died in the ocean, many years before, from hypothermia. Moments before she peacefully passed, she dropped the Heart of the Ocean into the sea over the wreck site of the Titanic. This ending leaves the audience at ease, as Rose was finally able to get closure over losing Jack.

3. 50 First Dates: Lucy wakes up and plays a tape Henry made for her, recalling her accident. Instead of ending in the loop she once lived, the tape ends with her and Henry's wedding, and she meets her husband and children on the deck. I liked this particular ending because it was one of those feel-good endings. Henry, formerly known as a promiscuous player, was able to get Lucy, the once confused amnesiac, to remember him and her love for him, as he fell madly and deeply in love with her.

Literature:

1. The Things They Carried: This book, "neither a novel nor a short-story collection," is one of my all-time favorites, and I must admit, the ending was a primary factor as to why. O'Brien ends his compilation of war stories with "The Lives of the Dead." He explains how back in Vietnam, the soldiers kept the dead alive by telling stories about them. And basically, he keeps his childhood love Linda alive by telling stories of her, as well as ruminates over how he's lived his entire life trying to save his childhood life.

• Last line:
• "I'm skimming across the surface of my own history, moving fast, riding the melt beneath the blades, doing loops and spins, and when I take a high leap into the dark and come down thirty years later, I realize it as Tim trying to save Timmy's life with a story."
2. The Great Gatsby: Another, somewhat overplayed, classic, this novel is another all-time favorite. The plot revolves around obsession, partying, narcissism, and accidents, and the ending statement is one of the most quoted lines by many English teachers I know. It captures everything that the preceding pages suggest: there can be no way for this book to end--end in the sense that time or a legacy cannot end. Shit happens, and we all learn to deal.
   
• Last line:
• "So we beat on, boats against the current, borne back ceaselessly into the past."
3. The Perks of Being a Wallflower: I remember reading this story in tenth grade, thinking it was one of the greatest stories ever told. Still a favorite, this novel contained so many quotes I absolutely loved. This coming-of-age novel is about the misadventures and the memories of starting/being in high school. The ending itself is very nostalgic, and it reminds the reader to live in every moment. Because before you know it, it's gone. Just like that.
   
• Last line:
• "And in this moment, I swear, we are infinite."

Short Stories:

1. A Temporary Matter (from Interpreter of Maladies): Shoba and Shukumar, a trying couple, with high hopes of rekindling their flame, face their tragic fate.
• Last line:
• "They wept together, for the things they now knew."
2. The Trespasser: A girl fears becoming the trespasser of her own life.
• Last line:
• "The dream that scares her awake over and over is the dream of entering a stranger's bedroom--only it is her room--and encountering there her own body, waiting."
3. The Most Girl Part of You: After getting intimate with her best friend Big Guy, a girl realizes she's ready to grow up and start living.
• Last line:
• "I want him to know what it clearly seems to me: that if it's true your life flashes past your eyes before you die, then it is also the truth that your life rushes forth when you are ready to start to truly be alive."

In essence, the best endings are the longest-lasting ones. They're the ones we carry with ourselves everywhere we go. They can be nostalgic, reminding us of our former lives, or elusive, leaving us with a sense of mystery--a sense of magic. They are relatable, and they don't add anything out of the blue. They're realistic, ending in situations we could actually picture happening. I'm still debating on where I want my story to go, but I'm thinking about ending the story happily--however, not clichéd. I hope to leave readers feeling good and possibly a little nostalgic.

Looking Backwards at "Cheating Upwards"

This past summer, I was forced to read and write about an article titled "Cheating Upwards." When I first read it, I didn't think very much of it. All I really thought was, I get to read and write about cheating? Greeeeaaaaat. Frankly, and unsurprisingly, the Directed Self Placement (DSP) was the last thing I wanted to do during the summer before the start of my college career. And the fact that the DSP was on such a banal topic didn't help my interest. Plagiarism was something that my generation was constantly reminded of throughout our secondary education. It wasn't anything new to me--it was old news.

However, after rereading the article now, I realize there were many things I didn't notice my first read through. Due to my inattention, or more so my lack of interest, I hadn't realized Robert Kolker introduced his essay with a three-page story to lure his audience in. I mean, don't get me wrong; I wasn't oblivious to the presence of the story. I just didn't really process, nor had I really cared to know the purpose of the implementation of a story. Instead of conveying the scandal in the standard news report format, Kolker had managed to transform the news into a story, which allowed for readers to better visualize what exactly had happened.

Kolker was careful to include several story elements when introducing his non-fiction. He began the story by describing the setting, vigilant to incorporate every specific detail. He noted the time and date, the environment and scenery--everything visible to the naked eye at the place and time of the start of the crime. Kolker then proceeded to further describe the main character, Nayeem Ashan, illustrating his appearance and background. "Like many teenage boys, he [seemed] to straddle two worlds: One moment you see a man, another a boy." After providing an adequate history of Nayeem, Kolker continued on by introducing the conflict at hand: cheating. The plot then begins to develop, moving the story along as well as noting the impact of the technological and collaborative culture kids these days are being raised in. Rising action builds as Nayeem grows bolder and bolder with his ethics, climaxing during his Spanish Regents exam--specifically when Stanley Teitel, the Stuyvesant High School principal at the time, enters his testing room.

While I was rereading this piece, I recalled most of the content. It definitely was something that stuck with me, as I recall being appalled and amazed that a bright and intelligent student actually had the audacity to cheat on not one, but three important examinations. I mean, it's not that I wasn't aware of students of all academic levels cheating; I just assumed that students as smart as Stuy kids would know better than to risk their academic career like that on something as major as an exam. Rereading about the Harvard case reiterated the importance of academic integrity and the severe consequences of plagiarism. I remember when I first read about the case, I viewed it as a scare tactic from UMich to alarm incoming freshmen of where cheating could get them.

I certainly saw this article differently my second read through. Maybe it's because I had to write this blog post, or maybe it's because I'm a more developed reader and writer as I once was, but I now notice the purpose of the usage of certain elements, such as anecdotes and rhetorical questions. I'm more aware of Kolker's transitions and overall writing style. After six months, after my first term of college, I've become a more attentive reader, questioning and interpreting the voices and the writing styles of every writer, as well as analyzing how each writer goes about conveying his/her purpose.

I don't remember how I wrote my essay, especially since my hard drive crashed last week and I didn't back it up, but if I were to write the DSP essay today, I would deviate from the standard five-paragraph essay I was taught to write in high school. I would develop my essay with an abundance of quotes, to better support my claim. Also, I would consider disregarding the prescribed writing rules my honors/AP English teachers taught me to adhere, such as eliminating rhetorical questions and beginning my sentences with conjunctions.

Blogging vs. Academic Writing

Blogging and academic writing are indubitably two different forms of writing. Consider them contradictories: unbounded vs. bounded, expressive vs. reflective, unstructured vs. structured, and so on and so forth. When it comes to school and writing composition classes, blogging isn't typically the first thing that comes to mind for most students. I never took any creative writing classes or participated in any clubs of the sort, so when I heard the word "writing," typically from a student's perspective, I always thought of the typical five-paragraph essays, mindless papers, and tedious lab reports. That is, until my first term in college (if you don't count the times I was dual-enrolled) in LHSP125.

After reading the article "Blogs vs. Term Papers" in the New York Times, I began to better understand the entire purpose of including this blog feature in this first-year writing course. I mean, our blogs are being counted for 20% of our final grade, so, of course, there had to be some sort of purpose.

With social media taking over today's generation, I think blogging assignments are a wise addition to college writing courses. As stated in the NYTimes article, "blog writing has become a basic requirement in everything from MBA to literature courses." Although the style typically is a bit more informal and the analysis, if any, is much less in-depth compared to academic writing, I've found that blogging allows writers to be more expressive. Sure, there may not be much, if any, structure in a blog post, but if it gets the writer's message across, then doesn't it fulfill the purpose of writing? Also, there's an immediate audience, as opposed to a single reader. Instead of having to wait around for one professor to sluggishly get around to reading and grading a piece of writing, a blog post makes the writing public, allowing anyone who stumbles upon the post to read and to comment. The immediacy of a viewer especially appeals students in this day and age, as growing up in a technologically-advanced generation has caused them to constantly want things instantaneously. Within the past two decades, communication has only grown faster, as snail mail and phone calls evolved into e-mails and text messages. It's a bit unfair to think of today's youth as impatient, needy individuals, since society and technology both primed them to become the way they currently are. But back to the point, having a universally larger audience means there's more than one person to keep in mind. You can be personal, but you also want to be relatable, otherwise no one will give a shit about what you say.

However, all of this doesn't necessarily mean I don't see the purpose of formal papers. For a while, academic writing was all I really knew. From five-paragraph essays to three-part theses, I learned how to structure my argument and emphasize that I really knew what I was talking about, even when I didn't. Although I've always aced every essay I've ever written, I felt like I didn't really know how to properly express myself in words. I constantly felt like I had so much to say, inside and outside of the classroom, but simply didn't know how to say it. Even though it didn't really help me be more concise, blog writing helped me better express understand myself.

I like to keep things in moderation. You never want to have too little of one thing and too much of another. Moderation helps you experience and learn from the best of both options. So, the best way to teach writing, in my opinion, is a combination of both blogging and academic writing.

I just want sleep.

I want to close my eyes and dream sweet things, simply resting eternally without death. I want to find myself in my sweet escape from reality, in a land of surreal serendipity.

Sleep is beautiful because when I dream, I have no worries. I don't want to die; I just want to float and ignore all of the solicitudes of everyday life. No thoughts of where the ones I needed most went or of what could steal my last breath. Just the calm and steady rise and fall of my chest.

Comfort, no stress. Resting. Dreaming. A good night's sleep.

Admiring Good Posts

What constitutes a good blog post? Is it the topic? Is it the visuals? Is it the way in which the blogger articulates themselves? I find it's actually a combination of several variables.

Now, I'm not saying there's a formula to creating a good blog post, nor am I implying that I think I'm a good blogger. I'm just saying there's a basis--a foundation--to writing one.

I'm drawn towards authenticity. Writers who can be genuine and open best captivate me. I'm the type of person who's curious about everything I come across and everyone I meet. I'm a dreamer, a questioner, a girl who likes to learn.

In order to be effective, a post must hook and reel. Titles and visuals are the bait: interesting elements hook the reader; bland components merely sink. From articles and news reports to novels and essays, there's a plethora of publications readily available to read. As a reader, titles help me determine whether or not I want to continue on with the reading. If I see a blog post titled, "Blog Post #__," I'm more inclined to overlook it. The more creative the title, the more interested I am in hearing what the writer has to say, as the title gives me a general idea of what the post is about and where the blogger intends on going with the topic. Also, the placement of visuals and videos plays an important factor. Is it placed properly? Does it aide your content? Or is it misleading and completely random? Conversely, the tone and writing style are what reels the reader in. Eloquent writers aren't afraid to deviate from traditional writing. A blog is a free space for expression. It is not an academic essay or a formal report, rather, it is a blank canvas for a writer to create. The way I see it, a blog is basically an online journal. And in our journals, we typically aren't bounded by prescribed grammar rules. We write as we go, writing as we please in an unconventional manner. For the post on making a character, for example, I found the ones that avoided explicitly stating "Phase 1" and "Phase 2" or "External" and "Internal" more potent. Instead, these bloggers got creative and incorporated an actual story, despite their brevities.

So basically, in order for a post to be effective, it must grab AND keep my attention. You might have an enthralling title, but I'll stop reading the second I lose interest in the conventionalism of your content. Or, you might have a strong message, but I most likely won't get to it if you title your post poorly.

The best posts are, in my opinion, the personal posts. Posts that give me a snippet of another person's life intrigue me. It is the memories, the thoughts, and the feelings that are invisible to the eye. For one to expose what goes on in his or her mind, presenting a state of vulnerability, is, to me, golden.

I have lost myself, only to be found within you.

          It's rush hour, and clumps of people come cluttering in. Despite the dim lighting and quiet ambience, everything suddenly appears... Perturbed.
          He stands there, at five feet and eleven inches, waiting. With his head held high and his eyes down low. Everything about him is dark. Short chestnut hair. Deep brown eyes. Slightly tanned skin. He seems like an enigma--like something countless of girls wasted much of their youth trying to figure out. He's wearing 50 shades of gray today, from his charcoal gray long sleeve and his faded gray jeans to his asphalt Nikes and his silver Movado watch. He glances at his phone, in efforts of making his impatience disappear.
          He seems like the entrepreneurial type. In fact, he's the epitome of today's young, elite businessman. He's the slick, suave sweet-talker who's constantly in a rush. He doesn't commit very easily, but when he does, he's committed like a ball and chain. By the age of 23, he knows exactly what he wants in life and doesn't stop at anything until he gets it.
          But today, his defined jawline appears unsharpened. He didn't choose to participate in No-Shave November; rather, his five o'clock shadow was forced upon him. Today is the first day he has been away from the office in thirty weeks.
          He pulls out his iPhone once again. Nothing.
          Physically, he takes one step forward, swiftly swaying with his step. Mentally, he takes twenty steps back. Although he eagerly anticipates ordering his large black cup of coffee and his garlic bagel, all he can seem to focus on is the life he had blindly left behind.
          Back in the city, his Wall Street career was sky-rocketing. On the verge on being promoted to head consultant of the conglomerate he had spent endless nights and weekends at, he cracked. At the work party, right before he was about to accept his big promotion, news that his girlfriend of two years had been unfaithful for more than half of their relationship finally reached him. Running off and away from his promising future, he took the subway north, eventually downing away his sorrows at a desolate bar in the Bronx until 8AM.
          Hopeless and hungover, he finds himself here, in Ann Arbor--back where he first began to find himself. Four years ago, he found hope. During his freshman year as an undergraduate, his mother lost her battle with breast cancer. Having been a complete Momma's Boy, he took her passing harder than anyone else impacted. But it was here, in the line of Bert's, where he met his college sweetheart and his one true love.
          Lily believed in karma. Stressed out from midterms, she always did a few random acts of kindness in preparation for her upcoming exams. A friendly face standing in line in front of him, she told the barista to charge her Chase debit card however much her order and the person behind her's order totaled.
          It was then, when a stranger took him by surprise, that he started seeing that there was still something in life worth living for. That there was still good in the world. That there was a bright future ahead of him.
          She inspired him. She pushed him to be the best man he could be. She loved him endlessly and put his broken pieces back together.
          It was Lily who helped him find his passions and his love for business.
          But, as the seasons begun to change, so, too, did his demeanor. After being accepted to the Ross School of Business, and after becoming whole once again, he gradually developed the stereotypical mindset of a sleazy executive.
          During their senior year, he mindlessly broke up with her. He thought he could "do better." He thought she wasn't worth it. He was going big places and she was going to little towns. He thought she wasn't worthy of him and what he had become.
          He finds himself wondering if he made the right decision.
          "Bobby."
          He scans the room in search of a once-familiar voice. Never has he felt so alone in a crowded room.
          After grabbing his first meal in 36 hours, he anxiously looks around. He's frantic, nervous, and unsure of what exactly he's looking for.
          He didn't know if she was still around. He didn't know what she's been up to. He broke her heart and shattered her into the very pieces she found him as. But he didn't know who to confide in. He didn't know if she'd ever want to see him again, as she screamed at him when he tore her into tiny pieces. He simply didn't know anything anymore.
          As what little hope remained began to evade, he began to make his way towards the door.
          "Over here."

Rain, Rain, Don't Go Away

There's something about the sound of a heavy rainfall that instills me with a feeling of hope. Maybe it's the way the shower sounds so strong, demonstrating that even what seems to be the tiniest sound can metamorphose into a melodic uproar. Or maybe it's the way the pitter patter of the raindrops is so persistent, providing me with the sense that no skill, no relationship, no idea--essentially nothing--becomes solid without consistency. Perhaps it's the way Mother Nature lets down her rigid walls and invites a forlorn drought to appreciate her tears. Whatever it is, it's soothing.

Sometimes, I want to be a raindrop. I want to travel the world, to see things others couldn't otherwise see. I want to visit different cities, to find myself in different sceneries. Maybe find myself in the light, morning rainfall in the countryside one day, and in the moderate, night shower in a busy city the next. I want to come crashing down one day and subtly drip the next. I want to find myself both high and low, enjoying the view wherever I go. I want to be able to take a look at things in different angles and perspectives. I want to meet different types of people, to greet the umbrellas of the grouchy rich, to embrace the palms of the happy poor. I want to create ripples, big and small. In a pond, in a lake, in someone's life. I want to be there for the heartbroken lovers, the newfound couples. I want to be present for the painful breakups and the endearing makeups. I want to know I can wash away someone's sorrows, or fill someone with joy.

I don't mind falling. As long as I'm not alone. And raindrops are never alone.